“Here,” answered a clear, full voice from the shadows of the inglenook, and forth there stepped a very queenly-looking woman, in the prime of life, when youth’s bloom has not been altogether left behind, and yet all the grace of womanhood, with its dignity and ease, has come to give an added charm.  One glance from the old woman’s face to that of the young one showed them to be mother and daughter, and it did not take a sharp eye to see that Tyrrel, as he was always called, was deeply enamoured of the beautiful Joanna, though treated by her with scant notice, and as though he were yet a boy, scarce worthy of being looked at or spoken to.

She stood in the glow of the fire, a tall, graceful presence, to the full as picturesque as her gipsy mother, and far more attractive.  Cuthbert’s eyes turned upon her with an unconscious appeal in them; for it suddenly dawned upon him that for a Trevlyn to adventure himself amongst these wild gipsy folks was like putting the head into a lion’s mouth.

It almost seemed as though Joanna read this doubt and this fear; for a flashing smile crossed her dark face, and she held out a shapely hand to lead the guest to the table.

“Thou art welcome to our board, Cuthbert Trevlyn,” she said, “as is any hapless stranger in these wilds, be he Trevlyn or no.  Thou shalt eat our salt this night, and then woe betide the man who dares to lay hand on thee;” and such a glance was flashed around from her magnificent dark eyes as caused each one that met it to resolve to take good heed to his ways.  “Thou shalt come and go unmolested; Joanna the Gipsy Queen has so decreed it!”

Every one present, the old woman included, bent the head at these words, and Cuthbert felt by some instinct that his life was now safe.

Chapter 5:  The House On The Bridge.

“Keren Happuch.”

“Yes, aunt.”

The reply came only after a brief pause, as though the rosy-cheeked maiden at the casement would fain have declined to answer to that abhorred name had she dared—­which was indeed pretty much the case; for though it was undeniably her own, and she could not gainsay the unpalatable fact, nobody in the world but Aunt Susan ever aggrieved her by using it.  Even her grave father had adopted the “Cherry” that was universal alike with relatives and friends, and the girl never heard the clumsy and odious appellation without a natural longing to box the offender’s ears.

“What art doing, child?” questioned the voice from below.

Now Cherry was undeniably idling away the morning hours by looking out of her window at the lively scene below; and perhaps it was scarce wonderful that the sights and sounds without attracted her.  It was a sunny November morning, and the sun was shining quite hotly; for the soft wind from the south was blowing—­it had suddenly veered round in the night—­and all nature seemed to be rejoicing in the change.